Father and Son
This is not a tale of epic battles, strong monsters slain or damsels rescued. This is not a tale to be told lightly, and even as I tell it, I do not promise you a happy ending. Listen, if you must, or leave, before it falls upon your ears and you will never forget. Edgeville, as we know, is right beside the Wilderness. The town stretches to the gap, the breach, where no inhuman monster can pass. The people of Edgeville are wary of the demons on the other side, who tempt children and gaud strong men to cross. But demons seldom stray to the edge, and so the town lived in relative normality, with little contact from across the trench. And so, our story truly begins with two brothers, playing with their father's stolen boomerang. The elder tossed it, and it flew over the wilderness trench, flying on for twenty meters, before arcing back to meet his skilled hand. "Bet you can't beat that!" he cried to his brother. "Course I can!" replied the younger sibling, and he took the boomerang and threw with all his might. And the thing flew, slicing through the air at great speed. The boomerang flew far further then the older brother had tossed it. "Well done!" said the elder. But the boomerang did not arc back to them. It fell, a good fifty meters into the Wilderness. Silence hung in the air. "Dad will kill us!" the younger brother squeaked. "I'm going to have to get it" the elder said. And with that, he ran home, fetched a ladder, and laid it cross the gap. He walked along the rungs, carefully, balancing slowly, until his foot reached the other side. And then he was across, where few people dare tread. The Wilderness. He ran. There were no demons in sight, no giant rats, no ancient ghosts. Just flat, level ground, and his boomerang. But still, he knew what tales were told, and what all the adults said. Fear was heavy in his heart, even as he neared his father's stolen boomerang. He bent to pick it up. A hand shot from the ground and snatched his wrist. He screamed, trying to wrench away, but the arm held him fast, dragging him down beneath the loose soil, beneath the earth. To his death. The boy screamed, louder and louder, and terror gripped his brother's heart: the younger sibling ran to tell his father. Even as his hand was being dragged beneath the earth, he snatched the boomerang with his free limb, and with its sharp edge, stabbed the hand. It writhed, and released him, sinking back beneath the soil. For a moment, fear paralysed him. Then, it fed his legs, and he shot off. Right into the arms of a waiting skeleton. The father ran, sprinting from his forge to the trench. He ignored the ladder, and traversed the gap in a single leap. He ran faster that day than ever before, because he would save his son, he would, he would. He had to. His boy was screaming, held in the arms of an undead monster. The creature would pay. The father collided with the creature, taking it from his son to the ground. He punched the skull of the skeleton and cried out with the pain as his knuckles broke. The thing wrapped its bony fingers around the father's neck, pinning him to a withering tree and choking the life out of him. Its eye-sockets were as black as death. The father, with both hands, snapped a branch from the tree, and slid it through the skinless ribcage. He pushed down with all his strength. There was a heart-stopping crack as the bibs splintered, and the skeleton fell, lifeless. The father leaned by the tree to regain his breath, and he heard the ghostly whistle. He threw himself from the tree. Which exploded in a shower of splintered wood. "Revenant!" the father spat, and he took his son in his arms and ran. The revenant spat ghostly energy at him, so that the father had to travel in a zig-zag manner to avoid them. His breath ran as fast as his heart, and fear gripped him. Fear for his son, for himself. Twenty meters to the trench, twenty meters to go.... A ghostly bead of energy flew overhead, the father ran all the faster. Fifteen meters to go.... The energy exploded at his feet, and he stumbled, but did not fall. Ten meters to go.... The father ran straight now, nor more zig-zagging, he was so close... Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. A ghostly whistle sounded, and the father was struck down. The son flew from his arms and soared, over the trench, to the other side. He rolled when he hit the ground, into his brother. They were both safe. But their father lay motionless. As still as death. And two deathly skeletons grabbed his body and began to drag him back to feast upon his flesh. There. More wine, please. What's that madam? Oh, I agree, a dreadful story. You cannot say you weren't warned, though. I didn't promise you a happy ending, did I? No, I didn't. But it was happy for the son, was it not? The son who, though he lost his father, at least retrieved the boomerang? The boomerang in his hands as we left the story? No madam, very perceptive. I never said the story was over. The son threw the boomerang, where it bounced of the skull of one skeleton and into the other before falling by the father's hand. The creature's released the father and fell. "DAD!!!" roared the eldest brother. "DAD!!!! WAKE!!!! UP!!!!!" And the father began to stir, began to rise, when a skeleton came for him. He the boomerang so hard it knocked its head off. The other skeleton threw a punch that sent the father to his knees, and a kick that sent him sprawling. It was about to land the coup de grace when the boomerang zoomed back to decapitate it. The father had but moments to revel in his victory, before the familiar ghostly whistle sounded and he rolled to avoid becoming a tragic bloodstain. The father ran, and another whistle sounded. He leaped over the trench, the bead of energy inches behind him. And there was the familiar explosion as it hit the line that divides Edgeville and the wilderness. The father landed, unscathed, and his sons ran to him and they embraced. "I knew you'd save me, Dad" More wine, please. Fill the cup all the way. All the way! So, I give you a free happy ending and you cheap out on the wine! There, thank you. Yes madam? No! No, no, madam, I said I never promised you a happy ending. I never said you wouldn't get one! The story looses all meaning when the ending is told like that! Anyway, I'll be back tomorrow, with a new tale, provided I will get my wine here. I shall, young sir? Why thank you. I promise you, tomorrow's tale will vast exceed this one!